The child certainly had looked better after her few days at the hot spring. Even last evening, Astrid had talked and played a game of checkers with Judd and helped with chores almost like a normal child. She’d tired easily and had gone to bed early. But she had much more energy than she’d had in a very long time.
“You really didn’t cough last night?” Greta studied the child’s face, noting fresh energy.
“Honest. I really didn’t. I slept so good that I woke up early. When I couldn’t fall back asleep, I saw Wyatt coming out of the barn and asked if I could go with him.”
Greta stared at Astrid, a new sense of wonder pushing away the despair. Was it possible Astrid could find some relief after all? From the hot spring?
While she doubted the spring had the ability to truly cure an illness, what if the water somehow contained medicinal properties? If bathing there could diminish Astrid’s symptoms, even just a little, then why not try it again? “I guess next time you start coughing, we’ll have to ride down to the spring again. What do you say to that?”
“W-e-l-l yes!” She peered up with a wide smile.
Wyatt’s fingers tugging expertly against his fishing line came to a halt, and he stood motionless.
When Greta chanced a look at him, he was watching her with rounded eyes full of questions. She lifted her hand to his cheek, relishing the rough scratchiness of his dark stubble. Her heart sang with a new, sweet melody. She and Wyatt didn’t have to go through the painful process of living apart this winter. They could stay together.
He tipped up his hat as though trying to get a better read of her face.
Inwardly Greta smiled while she tried to remain outwardly composed. “What do you think?” She nudged Astrid. “Should Wyatt and I take a trip to the hot spring? Just the two of us together? Maybe today. Or perhaps tomorrow.”
“Oh, I dunno.” Astrid wiggled her line. “The Indian said the water is for the sick. You’re not sick, are you?”
Greta could hardly pay attention to Astrid’s answer as Wyatt made sense of her insinuation. His oh-so-handsome face registered first surprise and then hope.
“Are you sick, Greta?” Astrid’s voice contained a note of worry that caused Chase, now lying at Astrid’s feet, to lift his head off his paws and perk his ears.
“No, I couldn’t be better. But I’m noticing Wyatt is looking tired and has such dark circles under his eyes.”
“I have an ache right here.” He pressed a hand to his heart. “But I’m guessing a day at the hot spring with Greta might make it better.”
“Might?”
“I reckon I’m gonna need two days to completely heal and not just one.”
She couldn’t contain her smile any longer.
He lowered his pole and in the same motion pulled her against him.
She came to him eagerly, wrapping her arms around him and breathing him in.
“You don’t have nowhere else to be today?” he whispered so Astrid couldn’t hear.
She shook her head. “No. Nowhere but with you.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
As his arms tightened, she sensed he understood that she’d explain everything to him later.
“So when can we leave for the hot spring?” His voice rumbled by her ear with the hint of a promise.
“I’m ready whenever you are, Cowboy. As long as you’re sure that’ll cure your heartache.”
“Ah, darlin’. There ain’t nothin’ that could cure it more.” His lips connected with the pulse in her neck, and she nearly gasped out her pleasure. At Astrid’s wide, curious eyes upon them, Greta swallowed her reaction but couldn’t control the slow burn that spread to her limbs.
“I know something else you can do right now to cure my heartache,” he whispered on the edge of a kiss by her ear.
“What?” She dug her fingers into his shirt to hang on, then shifted so he could have access to her mouth.
But instead of kissing her, he released her.
Without his touch, she felt strangely barren and started to grab a fistful of his shirt again to pull him back. But he was already digging in his coat pocket. A second later he tugged out a ring. Her wedding band. The precious one he’d purchased for her.
He held it up and reached for her hand. “Promise you won’t ever take this off, so long as we both live?”
The beautiful gold-leaf design glimmered in the dawn light. “I promise.”
Something in his eyes told her they’d only faced the first of many trials to come. But something else there reassured her that they’d face those future hardships together, side by side, as man and wife, bearing each other’s burdens.
“I’ll always love you.” He slipped the ring on, his eyes brimming with so pure a love it left her breathless.
“And I will always love you.” She rose onto her toes and touched her lips to his, her promise in return, to love him all the days of her life. He was her cowboy for keeps.
Chapter 31
FLYNN MCQUAID
SOUTHWESTERN PENNSYLVANIA
EARLY NOVEMBER 1862
Flynn McQuaid spread his feet apart and crossed his arms, blocking the barn doorway. He wasn’t about to let Brody leave. Not even if he had to tackle his brother to the ground, hog-tie him, toss him in the cellar and throw away the key.
“You ain’t going,” Flynn said again more firmly. “And that’s all there is to it.”
Brody fisted his hands, causing the muscles in his arms to bulge. His dark brown eyes glowered and his nostrils flared. He was like an angry bull about to charge, and Flynn braced for the impact.
“You ain’t my pa.” Brody’s tone was low and menacing. “Stop acting like it.”
Flynn wanted to roll his eyes. If he had a penny for every time he’d heard Brody and Dylan spout that line, he’d be a rich man. The almighty truth was, he was the closest thing the kids had to a pa, and they knew it. If only they’d listened to him.
“Whoa now, Brody.” Flynn forced himself to remain calm. “You don’t have to do this. You’re still a boy.”
“I ain’t a boy!” he roared, causing one of the barn cats to jump and scurry away in fright. “I’m eighteen now and old enough to fight.”
“Eighteen’s plenty old.” Dylan piped up from where he straddled one of the horse stalls, his trousers too short, revealing skinny legs and dirty bare feet. “Don’t matter how old. Matters how well you can shoot, and you know I’m the best sharpshooter around.”
“Stay out of this, Dylan.” Flynn threw a scowl at the boy. At fifteen, Dylan was way too young to enlist. But with all the talk of war, the boy wouldn’t hesitate to run off and join first chance he had, same as Brody.
A few weeks ago back in October, Pennsylvania had started the draft. They’d heard of riots in some places. Over in Berkley in Luzerne County the military had been called in. They fired on a mob of rioters, killing four or five of them—if the stories about it were true. For a lot of people, the draft only served to remind them the war wasn’t going away as fast as everyone said it would.
Flynn reckoned the fighting would be over in another six months. No more than nine, which was the length of time for the conscription outlined in the bill President Lincoln had signed in July.